


The Lay of Nasquë (Bondage)

by Vulgarweed



Series: Polyshipping Day Works [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Mention of torture, Multi, Poetry, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron and Thuringwethil are summoned to their Master's throne to serve His pleasure. They are not sure that they'll survive it.</p><p>A 1,000-word PWP written entirely in rhyming couplets - I think that merits a warning all its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lay of Nasquë (Bondage)

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks to everyone at Antidiogenes Club for their cheerleading and constructive questions - you are the best.

Smoothly now she changed her shape,  
Sharp teeth upon her master’s nape,  
“My lord, my Thu, what’s your command,  
Kiss of my mouth, stroke of my hand,  
My leathern wings, my silken thighs,  
I’ll give my all to feel thee rise.”

She pricked his neck; he let her feed  
It cost him nothing just to bleed,  
Angband’s lieutenant, Sauron bright  
Said, “Lady, we have a call tonight,  
He’ll have us both before His throne,  
He’ll have all our pleasures known.”

Said she, life’s blood bright in her eyes,  
“That comes to me as no surprise,  
I know you’re His as I am thine,  
His blood must taste like finest wine.”

“His grasp is harsh, His seed doth burn,  
But glad am I for chance to learn,  
Pleasure’s cruelty, torment’s fire  
Wrapt in pledge of fair desire -  
Trust Him not, but give your all,  
Lest we became a lesser thrall.”

“Methinks I smell your fear,” said she,  
“Loath as you are to let me see,  
Worry not for mine own sake,  
My hunger’s more than you can slake,  
What He will take is mine to give,  
He knows I feed on death to live,  
He shaped my hunger from His hands,  
I am His eyes in all His lands.  
His pleasure’s worse than His wrath, we know,  
But we are useful to Him so,  
I think He’ll use us wild and hard,  
But leave us only slightly scarred.”

“Thuringwethil, thou hunter bold,”  
Said Sauron, with shining eyes of gold,  
“You are ravenous and brave,  
But cold you are, like stone, like grave.  
Our Lord burns hot when of that mind,  
And only because I’m Aulë’s kind,  
Can I endure that smelter’s fire,  
Those ember kisses. His bed’s a pyre,  
His gentlest touches burn and sear,  
It is not for me I fear.”

Sadly then she gave a smile,  
And showed her fangs to him beguile,  
“My dear, I taste love in your blood,  
For me a dram - for Him, a flood.”

“Thuringwethil, I fear that’s true,  
But let it not be a grief to you,  
I’ll stand beside you before that throne  
Neither one shall die alone,  
And if our lot is death and agony,  
Our love is still some victory,  
Though we, like all behind Thangorodrim,  
Yield our last shards of love to Him.”

 

***

Too bright for those of darkling kind,  
The gems upon His brow did blind,  
The blood-gift from His blackened wrist,  
Left her with wild desire kissed,  
She dropped her veil, she bared her skin  
She rode His lap and took Him in,  
And He reached out, drew Sauron near,  
To taste his lust and smell his fear,  
The commanding hand, the secret laugh,  
The burnéd hand upon his shaft.

Braced for blows that never fell,  
Sauron watched for every tell,  
She sang with pleasure, surging wings,  
And rolling hips, sick-sweet mutterings,  
He spoke to her, near to tenderness  
With each slip out and return ingress,  
He held her fast in iron grip  
His life’s-wine from her mouth did drip  
To taste a Vala; what power and pleasure seized,  
No matter if cursed and diseased,  
Restores, empowers, brings fierce delight,  
As lava surging in the night.

Sauron kissed her; took his taste  
Gripped Melkor’s hands upon her waist  
Gave himself to scratch, to bite, to touch  
Never sated, though it be too much,  
The wolf within, his burning scars,  
The growing hate of Varda’s stars,  
When Master kissed him, salt and blaze,  
All melting gold and blinding haze,  
He bit back, tasting flesh and flame,  
He writhed and pleaded, shorn of shame  
He pressed where Lord and lady joined,  
and with his soul his bargain coined,  
Collapsing at his Master’s knees,  
Whiting black stones with his release,  
His hands trembled on one mighty thigh  
As her wings beat as if to seek the sky,

The mountains shook at Morgoth’s cry,  
Sauron looked up with fearful eye,  
Such dreadful pleasure on His face-  
Morgoth, alone of all His race  
Embraced perversion, depraved desires,  
Of cruellest lusts He never tires,  
but there was something in His eyes,  
that spoke of ghosts of softer sighs.  
Burned hands that rend and crush and tear,  
Stroked sweetly now in Sauron’s hair.  
A bone to a dog, a caress to a thrall  
Might be the cruelest jibe of all -  
And yet Thuringwethil lay her sated head  
upon His chest, and slyly said,  
“I hope we’ve only started, Lord,  
To soothe Your lust, to sheathe Your sword  
This crimson smear upon my tongue,  
Speaks of generosity unsung,  
And look at him, at Your command,  
How he shivers so beneath Your hand.”

“My fire within awaits Your will,”  
Said Sauron, pliant, lying still,  
Against His legs, beneath the throne  
His staff again as hard as bone  
At Master’s touch, at Master’s scent  
He too had hungers never spent.  
In dungeons dark he’d writhe and wail,  
Praise the bites of spike and flail,  
To feel that wild discordant song anew  
Threaded through him, will and thew  
By His hands, torn apart, remade,  
Through pain and pleasure interlaid.

Slowly then the deep voice spoke  
As Melkor from brief dream awoke,  
“Some say I speak no words of praise,  
Nor gratitude, no loving phrase  
Can cross my lips since I was cursed,  
Tis a lie at best, a myth at worst,  
For can I not still seduce and charm,  
Persuade and coax in handsome form?  
’Tis well you fear me, well you should,  
And when I called, you understood  
If my pleasure was torment and death  
You’d beg to die with every breath.  
You came because you had no choice,  
But your desire sang with its own voice,  
Crying out so fierce and wild  
To be taken and defiled -  
I praise your lust, your wantonness,  
Not only pleased, I am impressed  
No fool should trust me, well you know  
No oath I swear, nor safety bestow,  
Yet what I treasure, I keep near  
-The gemstones in my crown bought dear -  
Though easily I could destroy thee,  
My jewels, I will keep and enjoy thee.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I refer to him as both "Morgoth" and "Melkor." That's entirely intentional.


End file.
